


Just in Time

by crisiskris



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 13:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisiskris/pseuds/crisiskris
Summary: Malcolm gets a second chance to express his feelings... and a third chance, and a fourth chance...





	Just in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Slash Advent Calendar, 2004, December 7th.

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed woke early on Christmas morning.  The time was 4:21am.  He hadn’t intended to; being the Chief of Security on the Enterprise meant that he was responsible for scheduling, and he’d allowed himself the luxury of one day’s rest, for once in his life, letting his crew man the armoury for the day so he could take a break.  He had something very special planned and he wanted to give it his full concentration. 

Unfortunately, it was this very special something that had agitated him to the point where’d been unable to sleep, and he found himself sitting up in bed at 4 in the morning, staring listlessly out the porthole at the passing stars.  He was anxious, and it made him dour.  What if he’d been wrong, all along?

Giving up on sleep entirely, Malcolm hauled himself out of bed and into the shower.  He stood meditatively for a few minutes under the pounding water, letting it permeate his stiff muscles.  Then, unbidden, his mind began replaying the last few weeks, checking and double checking every sign, looking for the holes in his analysis.  Calling Malcolm cautious would be generous; paranoid was more like it.  He wanted to make his move, but he wasn’t going to do it if there was any indication he might be wrong. 

Sighing, Malcolm let him mind wander, distracting him from his momentary peace.  Very well then.  First, there were the smiles.  The way he’d look at Malcolm, kind of sideways, with a secret little smile on his face.  The way his eyes would light up every time Malcolm tried a smile in return.  The fact that he’d started showing up to do the armoury repairs personally, instead of sending someone else to do it.  The fact that he always seemed to be in the mess hall, with an extra chair at his table, whenever Malcolm came to eat.  And of course, the fact that he always called Malcolm over, “Hey, Mal, over here, there’s a seat with me.”  Casual, but consistent.  And he didn’t seem to do it for anyone else.  Then there were the little touches, casual and non-sexual, but definitely more frequent than usual: he’d lay his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder when he leaned over to read an output screen.  He’d touch Malcolm’s arm briefly when they parted ways. 

A short beep reminded Malcolm that his hot water utilization was nearing the  recommended daily limit.  He shook himself out of his thoughts and turned the water off, glancing at the clock above the mirror.  4:38am.  There was no way that Trip would even be awake yet; besides, they had planned to meet for dinner and exchange gifts, and despite the anxiety cloaking him like fog right now, Malcolm didn’t want to risk changing those plans.  That would indicate that something was amiss, and he wasn’t willing to give Trip any indication of his feelings until the last possible moment. 

He dried off, shaking his head.  This was ridiculous He knew there was something between him and the chief engineer - could feel it crackling between them every time they stepped into the same room.  More and more lately, they’d found themselves looking into each other’s eyes and stopping mid-sentence, lost, until one of them could pull himself together and laugh it off, backing off (away) to a safe distance, bringing the conversation back to the workings of the Enterprise.  Malcolm had been vaguely aware that something was happening for the last three or four months, and had been observing closely for the last four weeks; he was certain his gift would be well received.  But he couldn’t help it – part of him just wanted to put off bringing his feelings out in the open, because of the small insistent voice in his head that kept asking, but what if you’re wrong, but what if you’re wrong, but what if you’re wrong?

Malcolm sighed, stepping into some comfortable clothes.  He ran his fingers through his still damp hair, taming it, and picked the small, elegantly wrapped box off of his desk.  He was determined to go through with it, at dinner tonight.  He would be brave, and he would get his answer.

 ***

The day passed in excruciating slowness.  By lunch time, Malcolm was regretting having taken the day off.  Work would have helped soothing his nerves.  He’d already been to the gym, caught up on his correspondence, such as it was (one letter to his sister, and an automated reply form to a weapons research and development magazine made available through Star Fleet), read through a stack of reports, most of which had nothing informative in them, and worked out the armoury schedule for the next two months.  He hadn’t been able to force down any breakfast, and didn’t do much better for lunch. 

Trip, unlike Malcolm, had opted to schedule himself in for Christmas Day.  This made Malcolm feel like a lazy old fool, despite the fact that he worked more hours than any other senior officer, including T’Pol, and he passed some time berating himself for not being a better, more generous and giving supervisor.  It also meant, however, that he didn’t see Trip all day, for which he was ridiculously grateful.  He spent the afternoon sitting in his cabin, imagining all the horrible ways in which the evening could end.  He decided that by far the worst scenario was the one where he threw up his resequenced turkey all over Trip’s shoes, which was pretty much exactly how he felt right about then.  So an hour before dinner, he took a trip up to Sick Bay to get an antacid from Dr. Phlox. 

“Not feeling well, Lieutenant?” Phlox asked in his normal jovial tones.

“Just a little nausea,” he replied.  “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Well, perhaps you might consider eating something a little less… rich, this evening, if you aren’t feeling well,” Phlox advised.  He was amazed at the way in which humans stuffed themselves full of fatty foods on holidays, eating more than they wanted, and doing it all again at the next holiday despite the fact that they felt ill afterwards.  Malcolm thanked him for his advise and got out of there before the other man could begin lecturing. 

 ***

Finally, it was dinner time.  Malcolm changed three times and restyled his hair before making his way to the mess hall.  He walked dizzily, his vision tunneling as he moved forward, barely able to return the greetings of other crew members as they passed him by, until he finally. arrived.  Trip was already seated, two steaming plates of turkey dinner sitting on the table before him.  “Hey, Malcolm, over here,” he called out.  “I grabbed you food.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Malcolm replied as he sat down.  Then, inwardly, he cursed himself for sounding so formal.  What a cad!

Trip didn’t seem to take offense to the tone, however.  He mock scolded Malcolm, pointing his finger.  “It’s Trip, Mal,” he replied.  “Try the turkey.”

Malcolm complied, slicing off a small piece and tasting it.  “It’s not bad,” he commented, a bit surprised. 

“I know,” Trip grinned.  “I’m really pleased with the way the protein resequencers have been working since we replaced that power relay.” 

They prattled their way through the meal, talking about work and other unimportant things.  At length, a crewman came and cleared away their plates, leaving them with only the glasses of red wine they’d ordered to celebrate Christmas.  Trip reached down and pulled a box out from beneath his chair.  “Merry Christmas, Malcolm,” he said warmly, touching Malcolm’s hand.   They stared into each other eye’s for a moment.  Then Trip smiled his secret smile.  “Go ahead, open it,” he said.

“Right.”  Malcolm tore his gaze away and turned toward the present.  It was fairly large, and heavy.  He carefully took the paper off and opened the box. 

“It’s a heating unit,” Trip explained.  “I wanted to make you something that you could use.  I remembered you were complaining that your cabin just never seemed to get warm enough at night and I wanted to give you something to help you feel cozy.”

The gesture was so thoughtful.  Malcolm looked up at the other man, touched.  “You made this yourself?”  He asked.

Trip chuckled.  “Yep – well, truth be told, it’s not quite finished.  See?  There are still exposed wires on this side.  See how they spark?  It has a remote power generator, so it’s already got juice moving through it, and I need to finish that one panel.  It’s a bit of a fire hazard now, I’m afraid, but I ran out of time today.  I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

“It’s marvelous,” Malcolm replied.  “Thank you.”  He took a deep breath.  Okay, this was the moment – the moment where he gave Trip Tucker a ridiculously sentimental gift and hoped his feelings were returned.  He put his little box on the table. 

Trip’s eyes lit up like a little kid’s.  “That mine?”  He asked.   Malcolm nodded and Trip reached for it, drawing it across the table.

Malcolm could hear his heart pounding, blood rushing through his temples.  He could barely breath.  Suddenly, that little voice screamed up at him from some dark black place in his subconscious – he gave you a heater, for Christ’s sake!  He wants to be your friend, not your lover!  “Wait!” the word was out of Malcolm’s mouth before he could censor it.  In a panic, he reached across the table to snatch the little gift back.  His haste caused him to knock over his glass of wine, which traveled along in two winding rivers – one that ended in a pool against Trip’s elbow, leaned against the table; the other than rushed towards the still-sparking heater.  Too late, Malcolm realized what would happen.  He pulled back instinctively, mouth working like a fish.  He seemed frozen, unable to pull out the words from behind his lips, ‘Trip, move, the heater…’

Trip realized the danger, too, a moment too late.  He looked up at Malcolm with round, surprised eyes just as the liquid touched the heater and the electric current poured back down, across the table, into Trip’s elbow and through his body, which shuddered, stiffened, and then slumped to the ground. 

 ***

Malcolm couldn’t really remember what happened after that.  Someone had pulled him away from the table, where the little heater continued to pump out energy.  Someone else had obviously rescued Commander Tucker, now unconscious, because he’d been shipped up to Sick Bay for treatment.  And a third person must have dealt with the heater, and the mess of red wine.  Malcolm couldn’t recall.  He only remembered following the stretcher up the turbo lift into Sick Bay, sitting beside the curtained bed while Phlox checked the other man over.  Presently, he looked up to see Phlox coming out and approaching him.  Malcolm stood quickly.

“How is he, doctor?”

Phlox smiled. “He’s going to be fine,” he replied.  “The shock interrupted his brain waves momentarily, rendering him unconscious, but no permanent damage was done.  He also has some minor burns; I’ve treated him and given him a sedative.  Rest will help his body heal.  I would suggest that it might also help you.”

Malcolm took the hint and headed back to his quarters.  Someone had thoughtfully left the heater, minus it’s power source, outside his door, along with the unopened little box that was Trip’s present.  Malcolm sighed, stooping to pick them up.  He didn’t bother with the lights; didn’t bother changing out of his clothes.  He paced around the room for several minutes before collapsing in a chair, replaying the evening’s events in his mind.  He’d nearly killed Trip! A senior officer could have been dead because of his foolishness.  It was almost too much to bear thinking about, but Malcolm couldn’t stop.  He sat for hours in the chair, staring out into the dark, berating himself for his idiocy, before finally falling into a fitful sleep.

 ***

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed woke early the next morning.  His first thought was that he had to check on Trip.  His second thought was that he was absolutely mortified – he’d nearly killed his superior officer.  He’d nearly killed the man he loved.  He called for the lights and the computer complied, oblivious to Malcolm’s soft groan as the fluorescents flickered on.  The time was 4:21am.  Dragging on some clean clothes, he glanced around his room.  His little box was sitting, neat as you please, on his desk top, as it had the night before.  The heater, however, was nowhere to be found.  Where on earth would I have put it?  He thought as he pulled on his boots, but he didn’t stop to look for it; he wanted to get to sickbay and check on Trip as soon as he could.

Phlox was feeding his birds when Malcolm entered the room.  “Good morning, Lieutenant,” he called cheerfully.  “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to check on Commander Tucker,” Malcolm replied.

Phlox looked confused.  “Commander Tucker?” he echoed.

“Yes, of course.”  Malcolm was feeling impatient.  “Is he awake?”

Phlox’s look of confusion was slowly transforming into bewilderment.  “I have no idea,” he replied.  “You’d have to go to his quarters and find out.”

“He’s been released to his quarters?”  Malcolm was surprised; Phlox usually erred on the side of caution, keeping patients for an extra day rather than risk releasing them early.

“What do you mean, released?” Phlox was looking at him with his doctor-face now, one step away from picking up his medical scanner to run a few tests.

Malcolm didn’t pick up on the tone of voice.  “What do you mean, what do I mean?” he countered, exasperated.  “Trip was electrocuted last night, for goodness’ sake.  You were keeping him under sedation.  I assumed that meant you were keeping him for the whole night.”

Now Phlox was staring at him like he’d grown two heads, and he did have the medical scanner in his hand.  “Lieutenant, are you feeling at all under the weather?” he asked, punching buttons on the scanner.  “Have you, er, eaten anything unusual, any trouble sleeping?”

“What on earth are you doing?” Malcolm asked, mystified. 

Phlox shook his head, viewing the results of his scan, and then set the instrument down.  “Lieutenant, I can find nothing wrong with you, but you appear to be delusional.”  He held up a hand to cut off Malcolm’s protest.  “I can assure you, Lieutenant, that Commander Tucker was not admitted to  sickbay due to injuries from an electric shock.  In fact, last night was much like that earth poem – ‘twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a -”

“The night before Christmas?” Malcolm repeated, feeling as though his mind had gone.

Phlox looked a little perturbed at having his recitation interrupted. “Well, yes,” he replied, “December 24th.”

“I see.  Thank you, Doctor.”  Malcolm fairly ran for the door.

“Wait!  Lieutenant, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”  Phlox took a step towards him, medical scanner back in hand.

“What?  Yes, I’m fine, Doctor, thank you.  Bad dream, that’s all,” he rushed out.  Once he was safely ensconced in the turbo lift he turned to the computer padd and punched in a request for the date. 

’December 25’ showed on the screen.  Malcolm felt a thrill rush through his blood.  Christmas Day – again!  As he walked towards his quarters, Malcolm knew he should really report this to the Captain.  Obviously, something screwy was going on with time – Phlox had been affected, the computer thought it was yesterday, hell, maybe the whole crew did…

“Merry Christmas, Lieutenant,” a passing crew member called, confirming his theory. 

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, smiling uncharacteristically.  Yes, he *should* tell the Captain.  But he had an opportunity here to fix the mistake he’d made last night. He could un-blow his big moment with Trip Tucker.  It was too good to pass up.

 ***

He spent all day contemplating his strategy, finally deciding that fishing was the best way to go.  He needed to extract some information from Trip about the nature of his present, before Malcolm handed over his little box.  It wouldn’t be too hard; just a few casual questions would tell him whether Trip was interested in him as more than a friend or not.  If it was the former, Malcolm had come up with a substitute gift -  a subscription to a spacecraft engineering journal published in Europe.  He was ready to go.

Trip was already seated in the dining hall, two steaming plates of turkey dinner sitting on the table before him.  “Hey, Malcolm, over here,” he called out.  “I grabbed you food.”

“Thank you, Trip,” Malcolm replied as he sat down. 

Trip smiled warmly at the use of his first name.  “Try the turkey,” he invited

Malcolm complied, slicing off a small piece and tasting it.  “It’s not bad,” he commented, ignoring the feeling of déjà vu.   

“I know,” Trip grinned.  “I’m really pleased with the way the protein resequencers have been working since we replaced that power relay.” 

They prattled their way through the meal, talking about work and other unimportant things. Malcolm did his best to keep his end up, hyper vigilant of the other man’s behavior.  It was the same as always – little smiles, intense looks, soft touches.  At length, a crewman came and cleared away their plates, leaving them with only the glasses of red wine they’d ordered to celebrate Christmas.  Trip reached down and pulled a box out from beneath his chair.  “Merry Christmas, Malcolm,” he said warmly, touching Malcolm’s hand.   They stared into each other eye’s for a moment.  Then Trip smiled his secret smile.  “Go ahead, open it,” he said.

“Right.”  Malcolm tore his gaze away and turned toward the present.  Sure enough, there was the heater.  

“It’s a heating unit,” Trip explained.  “I wanted to make you something that you could use.  I remembered you were complaining that your cabin just never seemed to get warm enough at night and I wanted to give you something to help you feel cozy.”

Okay, time to cast the line.  “Thank you, Trip,” he replied, turning it over in his hands.  He made a show of inspecting it, until he came to the one unfinished panel.  “It, er, doesn’t seem to be quite complete,” he said, as diplomatically as he could.

Trip gave him a sheepish smile.  “Yeah, sorry about that.  I kinda ran out of time. I’ll finish it tomorrow, okay?”

“Of course.  I can hardly expect to come before the Chief Engineer’s duties, now can I?” Malcolm tried to make it light, joking, but it came off a little bitter. 

“It’s been a long week.”  Trip’s voice was a little more quiet, losing some of it’s jovial edge.

Malcolm smiled, deciding to give it one more push.  “Bit of a fire hazard, though, I suppose,” he remarked, thinking that if Trip had feelings for him, now would be the time to show them, to express his desire not to harm Malcolm in any way.

Instead, Trip set his fork down, his face stony.  “I said I’d fix it,” he replied. 

Malcolm looked up and met Trip’s gaze.  There was no warmth in the blue eyes looking back at him.  _I guess I have my answer_ , he thought.  “Sorry, Commander,” he replied.  “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“Forget it,” Trip replied.  “No, forget this.”  Suddenly he stood, pushing his chair back with surprising force, and stalked away.  Malcolm watched him go, aghast.  This was definitely worse than Trip getting electrocuted!

 ***

He spent a fruitless night trying to convince Trip to talk to him, but the other man had disappeared. If he was home, he wasn’t answering his door, and not even Malcolm’s security code could override the lock.  When he’d asked the computer to locate the other man, thinking maybe Trip had gone off somewhere else, the information had come up as classified.

Finally, desolate, Malcolm plodded back to his room, where he found the heater had been left neatly by the door.  The small box meant for Trip was still in his pocket.  He picked the heater up and deposited both of them on his desk, then changed into his pajamas and fell into bed, exhausted.

 ***

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed woke early the next morning.  He jolted awake and called for the lights, grasping at the alarm clock.  The time was 4:21am.  He looked across the room at his desk.  The little box sat there, neat as you please.  The heater was nowhere to be seen.  He rushed over to his desk to check the date on the computer screen.

“December 25th.”   Another chance!  Malcolm couldn’t believe his luck.  He had definitely screwed up last night, inadvertently insulting Trip with his attempts to fish for more information about how the other man was feeling.  Now he had a chance to make things right again. 

He rose and showered, feeling a great sense of urgency.  He re-did all the work he’d done the day before (and the day before that) before noon, and spent the afternoon arguing with himself.  It had now happened twice, and he knew that he should say something to somebody, because  something was definitely going on.  But it didn’t seem to –cause any harm, except maybe his sanity, and the rest of the crew seemed merrily oblivious, so… back and forth he went, until an hour before dinner.

Then he sat down to do the hard work of deciding what he’d do tonight.  Eventually, he decided that safer was better, and ordered the journal subscription. He downloaded the receipt onto a padd and tied a bright ribbon around it, then headed off to dinner. 

Trip was already seated in the dining hall, two steaming plates of turkey dinner sitting on the table before him.  “Hey, Malcolm, over here,” he called out.  “I grabbed you food.”

“Thank you, Trip,” Malcolm replied as he sat down. 

Their meal went as it had the past two times, and finally they reached the present exchanging stage.  At Trip’s urging, Malcolm carefully opened his box, putting on his best surprised face when he pulled the heater out.

“It’s a heating unit,” Trip explained.  “I wanted to make you something that you could use.  I remembered you were complaining that your cabin just never seemed to get warm enough at night and I wanted to give you something to help you feel cozy.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Malcolm replied, injecting as much warmth into his voice as he could.  “Thank you.”

Trip chuckled.  “Well, truth be told, it’s not quite finished.  See?  There are still exposed wires on this side.  See how they spark?  It has a remote power generator, so it’s already got juice moving through it, and I need to finish that one panel.  It’s a bit of a fire hazard now, I’m afraid, but I ran out of time today.  I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

“It’s marvelous,” Malcolm replied.  “I’m looking forward to using it.”  There was an awkward pause, and then Malcolm withdrew his pad.  “I’m afraid the wrapping leaves something to be desired,” he admitted, “but I do hope you enjoy it.”

Trip took the pad with a childlike curiosity. His blue eyes lit up as he read over the receipt.  “That’s fantastic, Malcolm, thanks!” he said, leaning close. Malcolm smiled.  There was another awkward silence.  After a moment Trip leaned back and picked up his wineglass.  “Well,” he said, taking one last sip and setting the glass back down.  “I guess I’d better call it a night. I’m on early shift tomorrow.”

“That was generous of you,” Malcolm replied. 

Trip shrugged.  “I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow night?” he asked by way of reply.

Malcolm stood as the other man stood, nodding. “Oh, yes, definitely,” he replied, his voice a little too adamant, his smile a little too wide.  Trip smiled back and they stared at each other for a while, before the blond man gave a little nod and walked away.

Malcolm walked back to his room, telling himself he’d done the right thing, but feeling strangely deflated.  He walked back to his room, the heater under his arm, and carefully placed the heater on the desk, where the little box lay waiting.  He stared at the box for a moment, feeling desperation want to claw up from his heart.  He’d backed down; chickened out.  Grimacing, he took the box and hid it inside a drawer, where he didn’t have to see it.  It’ll be alright now, he assured himself.  Sure, he didn’t do what he’d set out to do two mornings – or was it three? – ago, the first December 25th, when he’d planned on declaring his love for Trip Tucker.  But he’d maintained the status quo.  That would surely be enough.

He sighed, changing into his pajamas.  He was getting tired of this game.  Each day that repeated itself only made him feel more guilty for not telling anyone, and more frustrated and disgusted with his inability to initiate anything remotely similar to a healthy relationship with a man who was clearly interested.  It was time to end it all.  Malcolm climbed into bed, firmly believing that it was over, and that life would continue as normal as ever, starting tomorrow.

 ***

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed woke early the next morning.  He jolted awake and called for the lights, grasping at the alarm clock.  The time was 4:21am.  He looked across the room at his desk.  The little box sat there, neat as you please.  The heater was nowhere to be seen.  He rolled out of bed and walked to the desk to check the date.  It was December 25th.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed, feeling suddenly fired up.  “I can’t do this anymore!”  Malcolm grabbed the little box with one hand and stormed out of his room.  He strode down the hall, into the turbolift, down one floor and out into the hall, oblivious to the fact that he was in his pajamas.  He stalked up to Trip’s door in his bare feet and rang the buzzer repeatedly, his finger jabbing at the button over and over again, until Trip’s sleepy head finally poked out.

“Malcolm?  What on earth is going on?” Trip asked, his face rough with sleep, his hair tousled.  He looked delectable, and Malcolm licked his lips.  Enough pussy-footing around, already.   He shoved the box at Trip. 

“I can’t wait. Open it now.”  Trip looked at him like he’d grown a second head, then shrugged and complied.  He tore the paper off and lifted the lid off the box, then pulled off the cotton covering the gift. 

“Malcolm…” Trip’s voice was barely a whisper as he lifted the silver ring out of the box.  “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a promise ring,” Malcolm replied.  He caught Trip’s eye and held his gaze, feeling feverish.  “Trip Tucker, I’m in love with you.  I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I think you feel the same about me.  If you do, if I’m not wrong, then I want to give you this ring to symbolize my promise to love and cherish you with everything I have until the day that I die.”  The words rushed out of the Englishman with a passion he’d not realized he was capable of possessing. 

Trip stared at him, stunned and silent.  A minute stretched in the quiet hallway. 

Malcolm’s breath caught in his throat – _he was wrong, goddamn it, it wasn’t real, there wasn’t anything there_.  He opened his mouth to apologize, shame burning his cheeks, but it was at that moment Trip took the opportunity to move.  The blond engineer stepped forward, grabbed Malcolm by the arms and pulled him into his chest roughly, leaning in and capturing Malcolm’s open mouth in a searing kiss. 

It was Malcolm’s turn to be stunned, but it was only for a second, and then he was kissing back, his heart pounding, his soul elated.  His hands came up to tangle in Trip’s hair as Trip began walking them backwards into the room.  Malcolm barely heard the door slide shut behind them.  He was concentrating on Trip’s tongue, his teeth, his taste.  He was running his hand down Trip’s spine, lifting the t-shirt, feeling Trip mirror his actions.  Suddenly he was turned around and Trip was guiding him down, down onto the mattress, licking and sucking, hand trailing down, down, sliding his pajama pants off his hips…

 ***

In a distant part of the galaxy, in an entirely different time, hundreds of years into the future, Crewman Daniels looked down at a complex looking machine, one that allowed him to manipulate specific pockets of time and space.  With a small smile, he watched the two small figures on the view screen fall against the bed, before shutting it off.  It was done.

“Mr. Daniels?  What are you doing here?”

Daniels looked up at his superior officer. “Just running a few tests,” he replied.  “We got that new focused chronology equipment.”

His boss nodded, satisfied.  “Just in time for Christmas,” he observed, turning to leave.

“Yes, sir,” Daniels replied.  “Just in time.”


End file.
